The Inferno and the Hoarfrost
by Flowing Tears
Summary: AU. Thor rescues a sorcerer with a silver tongue and a black heart. By doing a seemingly good deed, he might have done something very, very bad.


Title: The Inferno and the Hoarfrost

Summary: AU. Thor rescues a sorcerer with a silver tongue and a black heart. By doing a seemingly good deed, he might have done something very, very bad.

Genre: Angst/Romance

Disclaimer: I do not own Thor or Marvel characters, heroes, baddies, weapons, locations ETC. Any character, weapon or location not recognisable is mine.

Rating and Warning: T for Violence and Torture. I wanna be really safe here :D

A/N: I'm not sure where this came from. But I want you to enjoy it anyway. This is a one-shot for now.

…- The Inferno and the Hoarfrost -…

Abora are foul creatures.

They are descendants of goblins and something much, much darker. Their heritage and inbreeding makes them violent, bloodthirsty and very cruel. When they capture prey, they torture it for fun, they antagonise it for fun, they harm it and defile it and completely destroy it before it is granted the release of death. Killing an Abora is an honour in the realms of the Nine. It is a deed that comes with praise and reward. Because although few in numbers, these dark skinned monstrosities are powerful and violent, and never stray from the possibility of a fight.

And they never stray from the opportunity to antagonise a captive either.

The large leader of the group is dragging their captive by his black hair, much to the entertainment of the rest of the group. Their prisoner is much slighter then they are, a light and frail man so he is easily dragged through the dusty brown grass and thrown on the ground. He can't properly break his fall because his hands are bound together. His groan is muffled by the enchanted gag sealing his lips. "Tie him to the trunk." The leader growls, and one of his subordinates reacts immediately. The smaller female drags their captive the final distance towards the tree and ensnares his wrists with another strong chain and attaches that one to the trunk. Now their captive half hangs from the trunk and half lies on the dry ground. This position puts more strain on his already battered body.

With a critical eye the leader of the creatures lowers himself to his knees next to the small male. He raises a hand to the captive's bare back and brushes his jagged claws over the dirty, pale skin. And he is not pleased in the slightest. Beneath the bruises there are jagged cuts running over their captive's shoulders and back, the result of vicious lashing. The wounds are crusted and don't bleed anymore. They look several days old, when in fact the sorcerer was lashed the night before. "He still heals too quickly." The large Abora snarls and climbs back to his feet. "Bloody sorcerer. You'll want for mercy soon enough. Bod! Lash him again!" He waves dismissively with one hand and turns away while his subordinates cry with glee. Bod, a tall and skinny monster bows his head when his leader passes, three of his females and one male trailing behind him.

"I still believe we need to cut out his tongue." The oldest female begins, peering through her messy grey hair at her lord. When the first whack of the whip falls the leader turns back to watch over his shoulder. "If he breaks free…"

"He is worth more with his tongue." Another female whispers, nursing a stump where her left arm used to be. Ripped clean off, but she carries herself well. She got off better then many, because she is still alive. "He has killed twenty of us, his magic is too powerful."

"He is bound and nothing now. He cannot cast or chant anymore. The muzzle makes sure of that. He cannot see any more, cannot poison us with his gaze. And he is a physical weakling that has no chance of breaking free from even simple chains, let alone these."

Another sharp lash cuts through the air, and through the skin of their captive. The sorcerer is shaking, shoulders quivering from the strain put on them from his bound arms that keep him partially aloft. Another crack across his lower back has him jerk sharply. It hurts badly, their leader says he heals quickly but older wounds are still lingering all over his body, only making his agony worse. They simply open up again with every new lash he receives. Blood is running over his shoulders and down his back, drip to his front and falls on the grass, coating the brown a coppery red. If he could see, he would glare as hard as he could. If he could speak, he would curse them all to Tartarus and back. If he could move, he would gouge their eyes, cut out their tongues, slit their throats, rip out their hearts and break their spines.

The whip falls on the centre of his back. Older injuries reopen and blood surfaces to draw irregular lines over the sorcerer's pale flesh. It draws him from his thoughts of mangling their bodies. He can't see them because they blindfolded him, but he can hear them jeer and snarl, and _that_ infuriates him more then being worked over with a whip _again_.

Someone grabs a bare ankle and jerks him backwards. "His legs." That is all that needs to be said apparently, because the whip falls on that upper leg, and actually hits the other as well. The sorcerer lowers his head as much as he can, feeling the strained muscles in his neck and shoulders contort painfully. Another whack on his legs. A powerful hand suddenly grapples him by the hair and pulls his head up, and he can't help but release a muffled whimper. "Ahw, he doesn't like it." And that gets the male holding him up by his hair another round of laughter.

The lash that follows, across his back again, hurts more then the last. A low growl emits from his throat that isn't heard over the jeers. Then another lash across his shoulders that burns like fire. "Turn him around." A female suddenly shrieks, and her fellow Abora cheer on the idea. They haven't whipped his front since several days ago.

But suddenly, the captive hears a loud thump and crack, his hair is released and a body hits the ground. And something _heavy_ falls, right next to him, so heavy the ground shakes and dust is kicked up. The sorcerer is gravely startled by the impact and pulls his legs up, draws into himself when fury makes place for terror. The Abora around him begin to cry with anger, weapons are being drawn. Whatever it is that had fallen next to him, it comes into motion again.

Something has drawn the anger of the Abora. Something powerful, because the sorcerer can hear skulls crack, screams of fury, armour break, cries of pain, bodies fall. Bodies that don't move after going down. How many fighters have challenged the monsters that captured him?

One, actually. The sorcerer can't see a thing, but there is only one man fighting the group of monsters. One single, lonely man, who has already taken down half of them.

To the grave infuriation of the Abora lord.

"You _dare_ attack us, Asgardian mongrel?" He growls, grip on his sword growing tighter. Their attacker laughs, _laughs_ at that, not a care in the world. "You speak to me like that, when you should be on your knees before me and begging for mercy." The Asgardian retorts in a booming voice, rolling with a shoulder. He steps backwards when the large Abora throws himself forward, sword extended and ready to gut him. His hammer crashes downwards onto the leader, slamming him into the ground. Thick armour breaks, along with a bone or two.

The monsters are weakened, the Asgardian warrior can tell when a female with only one arm falls before him. They have gone through a grave fight, maybe just a week ago. A second and then a third monster are vanquished by his hammer, by his mere strength alone. Yes, the warrior has to be on his toes, has to be careful not to make a wrong move or mistake, because if he will he _will_ be killed.

_Could it be from the battle where they captured their prisoner? _It must have been then and there. Most wounds are almost healed, but the Abora look like they have gone through an abhorring fight. "Is this truly then best the all feared Abora have to offer?" The Asgardian jests when he captures their leader and slams his hammer into the monster's face. Skull breaks under the impact and the leader falls onto the dusty ground.

And doesn't get up.

Four Abora remain, of which two flee, and the Asgardian slays the other two. He lets the escapees go. He is out of breath, heart pounding with adrenaline. It was a stupid idea to storm the Abora on his own he knows. Stupid and reckless and very, very dangerous. But now, he knows it was worth the risk. It will be when he releases their captive and takes him home to be healed and fed. No soul should have to suffer though the torment the Abora can concoct.

In five strides he is with the captive. The Asgardian lowers himself to his knees and places a steady hand on the back of the smaller man's head. The captive jerks sharply, tries to pull his head away from the touch and by the looks of it, it hurts. "It will be alright." He begins in a low, soothing voice. "I have no intentions of harming you." To his relief the small man seems to relax slightly. Not waiting any longer the Asgardian raises an arm backwards and his hammer returns to his hand in an instant.

The chain breaks with ease. "Easy." He whispers when the captive tries to jerk away. "You will hurt yourself more…" But the pale man doesn't listen him. The Asgardian recognises this kind of panic, the terror of a terrified animal, and that only strengthens his worry. With one broad hand he keeps the prisoner's wrists confined, and with the other he pulls his red cape from his shoulders. It rips freely. With a wave of his arm he throws the cape over the captive's body. It falls over the smaller man's back and shoulders, ripping a frightened whimper from the man's sealed lips. The Asgardian pulls the smaller man closer and rolls him on his back. It puts more strain on the captive's injuries, but they won't get more filth in them this way.

A well aimed kick in the side is the captive's answer to that. It doesn't hurt, which is alarming. The large man makes a quick decision. He pushes the smaller man down, tearing another muffled cry from the other's throat. "I am Thor Odinson. God of thunder and heir to the throne of Asgard. By my father's name I will not harm you, or let any further harm befall you." That seems to calm the smaller man down. A small smile forms on Thor's face.

The large man sits back, lifting the other man with him to rest against him so they can share some body heat. It seems the captive is malnourished because he is rather thin and cold as well. The Asgardian grabs the blindfold and gently pulls it from the captive's face, noticing that even this causes pain. For a few moments, when the captive opens his eyes they are unfocussed and he vividly blinks against the light, grimacing because even this action hurts. Yet, it seems to be a great relief to him. "Better?" The Asgardian brushes a thumb over the bruised skin of the smaller man's right eye. The skin is dark and swollen, and maybe the socket it broken. But that is not what truly pulls the Asgardian's gaze.

It is the captive's eyes. They are green as the brightest of emeralds he has ever seen, sparkle and shine with an intensity brighter then the most luminous of stars. Intelligence dwells on the surface, hiding many great secrets within their depths.

For a moment, they simply take his breath away.

_Come now Thor, focus. You have more pressing matter to attend to. Stare into his eyes later, when you are both safe and warm and fed._ Thor winches slightly when he hears himself think this in the voice of his mother.

The Asgardian raises his head and whistles, a sound that is carried by the wind. When finished he begins fumbling with the gag, a small smile gracing his face when his eyes meet the questioning gaze of the smaller man. "I called for my horse. She can carry us both to a place far more suitable then this." Understanding flashes through the other's eyes. That… has the bigger man fumble with the gag. His hand has travelled to the back of the captive's neck and is caressing soft and pitch black hair instead of actually _undoing_ the damned gag. After fumbling with the iron contraption a little longer it finally clicks free. Blood and dirt is adorning the captive's face. His lips are cut, his pale skin bruised with several unhealthy colours, his teeth stained red.

With the gag gone the captive is free to gasp for air. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and coughs. Blood splatters from between the small man's lips, falling on Thor's chest plate but he doesn't mind. "Have some water." He offers his flask, glad he had refilled it hours prior. The captive's cracked lips wrap around the top and soon the smaller man is drinking the water with a greed Thor has only rarely seen. It must have been a long time then, that the Abora captive was given anything to drink. "We will find more water on half a day's travel from here." The golden man promises when the other man draws the water until the last drop.

The sorcerer gives the larger man a thankful glance, swallows a few more times and licks his lips.

"Tell me your name." Thor speaks up while grabbing his red cape and wrapping it more firmly around the lithe frame of the sorcerer. The smaller man still feels cold to the touch. Bright green eyes lock into his blue ones and Thor can tell the former captive is hesitating.

However, neither can ask or answer when a shattering cry pierces the air. Thor tenses at the sound of bootfalls and drawn weapons. Rage and tension drifts on the wind, along with the stench of death that Abora carry. "More of them." The prince growls, his grip on the sorcerer growing tighter. They have to leave. Now. He may not be able to fight the oncoming reinforcements.

He is distracted however.

Words begin to spill from the sorcerer's lips like water. Thor can't recognise the language, from the moment the spell began to drip from the smaller man's lips a feeling of unease gripped at his heart. There is just something _wrong_, but Thor can't tell what it is.

"Hand over the wizard, and we might let you go in one piece." The golden god turns his head to face the Abora soldier and snarls.

There are too many already.

"You'll need to tear me limb from limb before I let you have him. I am…" A tremor cuts him off, a tremor right beneath him and the sorcerer. Thor is a man that possesses little magic. Thunder and lightning come to him like air to his breath. This however, is true magic. It is old, and powerful, and dark...

…and horrible.

Only a few feet from them the earth splits open like a mouth gorging into the soil. Thor's eyes widen, and he is not the only one shocked into silence. The Abora around him don't move or snarl, just stare like he stares as the earth rips open like a mouth and spits its horrendous monsters.

Creatures words nor pen will be able to fully describe. Black things, half shadow, half death crawl out of the hole and claw and fly and jump at the Abora. Tiny teeth and razor claws grapple onto armour and skin, sending the monsters into a frightened frenzy. Thor finally breaks out of his reverie when one Abora soldier falls on the ground and is overrun by the black ooze. "We must leave…" His voice is hoarse from the strain.

The sorcerer doesn't struggle when the Asgardian picks him up. Above the screaming of the Abora and the screeching of the black thing comes the sound of his horse. She is frantic, calling for her rider but afraid to venture anywhere near the chaos. Nor, it seems, she wants to come near the sorcerer. "Sapphira! Come here girl." She throws her head in dismay and calls for her rider, but matches every of Thor's steps backwards.

"She can tell Asgardian. She can tell evil. Can't you?" The sorcerer whispers amongst the chaos. Thor lowers his blue eyes at the other man's face, confused and slightly fearful. He is about to ask what the smaller man means but the earth shakes again, effectively cutting him off.

The ground spits out a creature much bigger then the blob of darkness that is currently tearing apart the remainder of the Abora. A loud roar rips from the giant creature, startling the horse. She screams but isn't quick enough to jump away. A large claw grapples her and the black creature lifts her with ease even as she screams and kicks with four legs. Her cry is overruled by the creature's scream, and then her cry is cut off when it wraps thick jaws around her nuzzle and tears it clean off.

Several smaller creatures crawl up from the same hole as the monstrosity and climb up the horse's still jerking body. Their small teeth and sharp little claws begin tearing into her flesh, and soon the horse is nothing more then another meal for the black monsters that keep crawling out of the holes.

Thor tears his eyes away from what is left of his horse, grip around the sorcerer growing tighter. A small, black thing hisses at him and snaps at his feet, forcing the thunder god to take a step backwards. "They will not hurt you." The man in his arms whispers softly, brining a cold hand up to cup the prince's face. "That would be a poor 'thank you' coming from me no?"

They lock eyes, azure and emerald. A small, winged creature lands on the god's back and climbs onto a shoulder. Another one brushes his left leg and purrs like a sick cat. Thor feels another one slither past his feet, but his whole universe shrinks down onto the sorcerer. "You might not want to be awake for this." And true to his silken words, Thor's vision wavers. The golden warrior feels himself fall to his knees, yet he refuses to let the battered captive free. He hears the sorcerer groan from the impact and whimper in pain. "Will you not let me thank you properly?" That line confuses the god, even as the outer rims of his vision turn black.

"Sleep now, oh golden sun of Asgard."

Then there is nothing. No screams of fury or agony. No cries and screeches of unmentionable monsters big and small. Now claws and teeth and wings and scales and horns. No soldiers of an army of monsters.

Nothing.

When the world comes into focus again, Thor is staring at… blue… and some green on the side.

Clear blue sky comes into focus, with the roofy leaves of a tree that shades him from the sun. Water is streaming close by he can hear, a gentle rive that flows peacefully. Thor rolls with his head, the smell of flowers and grass fills his senses. He is lying on a thick bed of lush grass, very comfortable and at peace.

The prince sits up with a stat.

"Are you well?" His blue eyes fall on the bank of the stream, and on the mutilated back of the sorcerer. "You were out much longer then I expected you would be." The smaller man turns his head, giving the god of thunder a view of his profile. Not much has changed, save the sorcerer's wounds and skin are now cleaned from filth and access blood. He looks much better like this, even in tattered robes. "I want to apologize for what happened to your horse." That is the least of Thor's problems now.

He looks around, immediately noticing the absence of his hammer. That was to be expected, as no soul other then he can lift it, but he no longer feels at ease in the other man's presence. His presence is suffocating, overwhelming…

…irresistible.

Even when injured and exhausted the sorcerer's movement is as fluent as water. His black robes cling to his hips and barely hide his pale long legs. The dainty man needs to keep one arm to himself with a handful of the robe, or it will probably fall. Thor's eyes follow the red cloth draped over the other man's shoulders.

His cape.

The smaller man kneels next to Thor, a small and respectful distance away. Pain is shining in those emerald green eyes, accompanied by exhaustion and… dare he think it… mischief maybe? But it also feels as if there is something missing. As if the sorcerer is hiding something, has masked his emotions because he doesn't want Thor to see.

A small, genuine looking smile appears on the other man's lips. "Thank you. For helping me." Even though he is sitting in the grass himself, Thor feels as if he is falling. "No one else would have come to my rescue, but you did." In all fairness, it had been a stupid decision on the Asgardian's part. He could have gotten himself killed if the Abora weren't in such a bad state.

That thought grounds the god, and the same feeling of unease settle in his stomach again. In the back of his mind Thor begins calling his hammer. But he freezes when he notices the change in the other man. Of course, the _sorcerer_ must feel what little magic Thor possesses, and must know when he uses it.

The small, sad smile on the injured man's face grows into a wide and malicious grin. "Do you believe _that_ will be your salvation?" He begins softly, with a honey sweet voice. "Do you truly believe I am so weak and fragile that I will fall at the first swing of your hammer? I can make the earth swallow you like it swallowed those disgusting mongrels."

A loud impact next to them successfully wipes the grin from the sorcerer's face, and then it is Thor's turn to smile. "As amazing as your magic may be, you underestimate me it seems."

He takes his eyes off the sorcerer for a split second, but when they fall on him again, and their eyes meet once more, the look the sorcerer gives him chills him to the bone. "I see that this is not the time to repay you for your kindness." There is a short pause in the slighter man's words. "Some other time then." Magic is gathering around them again, but this time, not as suffocating as before. The nameless man chuckles softly and lowers his gaze. "It's so strange. I feel as though letting you walk away alive is not good enough." He shakes his head in merriment, much to the disturbance of the larger man. "I must be so tired."

Their eyes meet, and Thor knows, now more then ever before, that he has done something horrible.

"May we meet again, god of thunder."

The sorcerer fades away, like snow to the sun, and with his disappearance the magic vanishes too.

Thor climbs to his legs, feeling dread settle in his stomach.

Could it be that the stories were true? The Nine whispers of a creature of utter malevolence. Of a child spit out of the coldest pits of Jotunheim. Of evil incarnate. Hades has a special place reserved in Tartarus just for this kind of wickedness.

The elves had come to Asgard only months ago with warnings about this man. Maybe that is why the Abora have captured this sorcerer, and that is why they kept their captive alive.

The god brushes a hand through his golden hair and sighs deeply.

"_May we meet again, god of thunder."_

They will. May these rumors be true or not, they will meet again.

Someday.

-Le End?

What do you guys think? Like the idea? Or not? This is a one-shot for now. I do have a few ideas to expand, but I'm a little unsure if this is even something people are interested in :D Let me know what you think!


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